The Prisoner of McAlester
by xXxAngel-With-A-ShotgunxXx
Summary: "Ponyboy Curtis, you are hereby sentenced to serve the maximum sentence of life in prison, without the possibility of parole."
1. An Ordinary Day

**The Prisoner of McAlester**

**1. An Ordinary Day **

_"Ponyboy Curtis, you are hereby sentenced to serve the maximum sentence of life in prison, without the possibility of parole. For the next three years, you will be sequestered at a juvenile facility in the tightest security the State of Oklahoma possesses. Once you turn eighteen, you will be moved to the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, where you will then be placed in a maximum security cell."_

_The judge looked at the convicted teenager with a piercing gaze, but the boy didn't even flinch. From what he could see, nothing seemed to be effecting the boy, at all. "With your blatant disregard for human life, you have ruined many lives. You'll have the rest of your life to think about that. I hope, one day, you can look at your decisions and realize how wrong they were on that day. Twenty-five people lost their lives and that is all on you."_

_Ponyboy's brothers and the gang all glowered at the judge. He, too, thoroughly believed that Ponyboy was guilty. They hoped, one day, that Ponyboy's innocence would be proven. That day would be the day that the judge would have to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. They very much doubted that it would be granted. _

_As Ponyboy was led away in handcuffs by two armed officers, he looked over at his family and friends. His eyes met Soda's, before looking away. It was in that moment that Soda saw the deep seeded fear in his little brother's eyes. It wasn't something that you'd see easily, unless you knew him and he knew that the rest of the guys had seen it, as well._

_ Ponyboy's head was ringing with the judge's final words to him. At that moment, all he could register was that he'd spend the rest of his life in prison ... _

_... for a crime he didn't even commit. _

-x-x-x-x-x-

**December 2nd, 1977 **

Looking at the clock on the wall, Sodapop felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. It had been ten years, nine days, twenty-two hours and twenty-three minutes since Ponyboy had been sentenced to life in prison. He hadn't hugged his little brother in that long, hadn't been there to wish him a good night, or help him through a nightmare. He hadn't even been allowed to see him when he'd been taken to the hospital after getting into a fight with another prisoner, for which he'd had to have stitches.

Ponyboy was twenty-five. He'd been twenty-five for four months, one week and four days. He'd missed ten of Ponyboy's birthdays. He'd barely been there for over a decade of his little brother's life.

He'd missed the day Ponyboy started shaving - he'd gone in for a visit one day to find a shadow of a beard across his brother's jaw and when he'd gone home that night, he'd punched a hole in the wall. Ponyboy had gotten his high school diploma in prison and hadn't even told him and Darry. They hadn't even argued with him about that - there were far more important things and they knew that it wasn't something to celebrate in Ponyboy's eyes. However, that night, Sodapop had heard Darry sobbing through the thin walls. Ponyboy should've been looking forward to college after getting his diploma, not sitting in a prison cell, with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him most of the time.

Thinking back to Ponyboy's trial, Sodapop bit back a snarl. The evidence had been stacked against him and the death penalty had even been on the table for a while. They'd all been told that a confession might make the sentence lighter - life in prison, instead of death by electric chair - but Ponyboy had decided to take his chances. Soda had been terrified, but he had agreed with his brother. If he'd been in Ponyboy's position then he, too, would've rather taken the death penalty than confess to something he didn't do.

"Soda?"

Turning around, Sodapop barely managed a smile at his older brother. "Morning, Darry."

Darry just ruffled his hair like he did when they were kids and turned to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug of black coffee.

Darry looked older than his thirty-one years. These days, he had more grey in his hair that brown, his eyes often seemed lifeless and he never smiled. With Ponyboy in prison for mass murder, Darry had leaned on very few people - one of them had been his wife, Caroline, though they hadn't been married at the time of Ponyboy's arrest. She'd died of cancer when Darry had been just twenty-five and he hadn't so much as looked at another girl since then. Soda very much doubted that he'd ever move on. That wasn't the kind of person Darry was.

It had been a particularly difficult time in their lives. Not only had Darry lost his wife, but they hadn't even been able to visit Ponyboy. He hadn't wanted them to.

After being in his juvenile facility for almost three years, Ponyboy had been moved to McAlester - the Oklahoma State Penitentiary - when he was eighteen and been placed in Maximum Security. He was only allowed out of his cell for one hour a day, handcuffed and only to walk around in a small caged area. Even during visits, he'd have to be chained down. They'd understood and had respected his decision to not want them to visit him.

They'd still sent letters, but it hadn't been the same as visiting him. Letters could lie.

Ponyboy's lawyer had worked overtime and gotten him moved somewhere else. There would still be tight security, but it wasn't anything like he'd had before. Neither Soda, nor Darry, had known too much about Ponyboy's new arrangements for a while. Ponyboy hadn't told them and they hadn't asked.

When they saw him again, after two long years, they almost hadn't recognized him. His eyes were cold, there was a hard look to his face and he held himself differently. Prison had begun changing him and it wasn't for the better. He'd tried not to let it show in front of them too much, but it had been obvious after the two-year separation.

"Soda, baby?"

Looking away from Darry, who had begun to get breakfast ready, Sodapop saw Mary standing in the doorway. Mary was his girlfriend of four years and, more recently, his fiancée. She'd been his rock for the last few years and had even visited Ponyboy in prison a fair bit herself. She had Ponyboy's approval and that was what mattered to him the most.

Mary sat down next to him at the table. "Are you okay, honey?"

They all knew that the mornings were hardest for Soda. Every morning, he brooded and, every morning, he only gave one varying answer to the constant question.

Looking back at the clock, Soda sighed. "Ten years, nine days, twenty-two hours and forty minutes."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sitting on the bench, Ponyboy took a deep drag of his cigarette, before blowing out a perfect smoke ring.

"What do you think of the new fish?"

Looking at the convict standing next to him, Ponyboy shrugged. Jack Carmichael and himself had been good friends for five years now. Jack was serving a ten-year sentence for bank robbery. He'd been in prison since he was eighteen and only had two more years to go. He was a year older than Ponyboy.

There had to be a con like Jack everywhere. He'd taken over from one of the old guys who'd died three years ago and, now, he was the guy to go to if you wanted something; cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey ... anything to keep yourself occupied that you didn't want to ask the guards for. The officers usually looked the other way, but not always. Ponyboy had gotten several things from Jack over the years and only ever had one of them confiscated, which he hadn't been fussed about. He got a new one a few weeks later and hid it better than he had before.

"They ain't worth shit," was all Ponyboy said.

Ponyboy rarely made any bets on the new inmates that came in, but he had last night. Usually, one of them cried and made a fuss the first night so, to keep themselves entertained, everyone else usually made bets on it. His bet had cost him an entire pack of cigarettes. He wasn't pleased. Over the years, he'd cut down the amount he smoke but, on a bad day, he usually got through about a pack.

Jack nodded in agreement. "Hard to argue with that. Peter wants a whack at the small one."

Putting out his cigarette, Ponyboy began his bench presses again. He'd been working out for years and had a damn good muscle definition to show for it. He'd never reach Darry's level, but he had a good medium build these days, which was good for his height of just over six feet. How he'd even reached that height remained a mystery to him.

"Peter wants a whack at everyone," Ponyboy commented, not caring who Peter got to.

Peter had tried the same thing with him when he'd arrived in this area of the prison, but hadn't tried it again after Ponyboy had shown him that a blunt spoon could be used as a rather effective weapon. Strangely, they now counted each other as friends - or as close to friends as you could get here.

Jack shrugged and began lifting his own weights. "He's out of here in a couple of months. How long has he been in here?"

Ponyboy was silent for a moment, focusing on his workout. "Almost fifteen years and I know he'll be back in here within a couple of months, depending on what he does. He hates it on the outside."

Jack didn't say anything to that, knowing it was true. Peter had gotten patrolled a couple of years ago and had been back inside within thirty days. He struggled on the outside - especially as he had no one to help him.

"Did you say he wanted a go at the small one?" Ponyboy asked.

Jack nodded. "That's what he said."

Ponyboy snorted. "He'll have some competition then. So does Marty."

Jack sighed. Just another day in McAlester.

For a second, Ponyboy shifted his attention away from Jack and looked at the watch on his friends wrist. Gritting his teeth, he began to push himself harder.

_Ten years, nine days, twenty-three hours and seven minutes_, Ponyboy thought to himself, before pushing it to the back of his mind. It did no good thinking about it.

"How are Winston and Shepard?" Jack asked.

Ponyboy grinned, wryly. "They're fine. The same jackasses they always have been."

Jack chuckled.

Ponyboy remembered when Jack had met Dally and Curly about four years ago. They'd been brought in for a two-year sentence - each. He remembered when he'd first seen them in the exercise yard.

_Standing with Jack, they were talking about the latest gossip around their own cell block. There wasn't much else to do and it was mostly about the new inmates that had arrived the day before. Ponyboy hadn't seen them, because he'd only just gotten out of solitary confinement that morning._

_"... got it right."_

_"Who'd you bet on, Jack?" Ponyboy asked, lighting up a cigarette._

_Jack shrugged, taking a drag of his own. "No one. I don't have the cigarettes to spare. Malcolm got it right - the nerdy looking one. Can you guess what he's in for?"_

_Looking at the one Jack discreetly gestured to, Ponyboy almost snarled. The behaviour was consistent to only one thing._

_"Bastard," Ponyboy muttered, glowering at him. "He won't last long."_

_"No, he won't."_

_It wasn't Jack who answered him. Turning around Ponyboy found Malcolm walking up to them. Malcolm didn't look happy - he never did - but he seemed to be in a particularly foul mood today._

_"I heard from a contact on the outside that he tried to make it out like the girl came onto him," Malcolm told them, leaning against the wall._

_"How old was the girl?" Ponyboy asked. He wondered why the guy had been sent here. It was well-known that guys like him didn't last long in this area._

_Malcolm spit on the floor. "Seventeen."_

_Ponyboy was quiet for a moment. "How old is_ he_?_"

_Malcolm looked Ponyboy in the eye. "Twenty-six."_

Small for twenty-six_, Ponyboy thought. He looked to be in his late teens, at the most._

_"Who's called it?" Jack asked, putting out his cigarette._

_Malcolm smirked. "Jackson, Peter and myself. We're gonna wait a week or two, see how he adjusts, see what he tries. Let us know if you spot anything in particular."_

_Ponyboy and Jack agreed, and Malcolm walked away, towards Peter and Jackson, who were having a heated discussion in low voices. It wasn't hard to guess what they were talking about._

_As Ponyboy turned back to face Jack, his eye was attracted by two people standing by the fence, only about twenty feet from him. It took Ponyboy a minute to realize where he recognized them from. As soon as he did, his eyebrows shot up into his hair-line._

_"No fuckin' way," Ponyboy breathed._

_"Who are they?" Jack asked, following Ponyboy's eye line._

_Ponyboy just grinned and began walking over, putting out his cigarette before he did, with Jack hot on his heels. Within ten feet, Ponyboy called out. "Winston! Shepard!_

_Dallas Winston and Curly Shepard turned around sharply, glaring, before they realized who it was approaching them. "Ponyboy?"_

_Ponyboy just grinned. "What the hell did you two do to wind up in this hell hole?"_

_Dally didn't answer, just pulling Ponyboy in for a quick hug. They both stepped back and Ponyboy bumped fists with Curly, who had a slight grin on his face._

_"Are you goin' to answer me?" Ponyboy asked._

_"B and E," Curly told him._

_Dally nodded in agreement. "We're here for two years."_

_Ponyboy whistled, lowly. "Damn. You must have caught the wrong judge, on the wrong day. Ain't Mitchell here for the same thing?"_

_Jack nodded. "He leaves next month."_

_Ponyboy and Jack looked over at a dark-haired guy in his mid-twenties on the other side of the yard, who had been inside for just nine months. He seemed to be threatening one of the new fish._

_"Good riddance, if you ask me." Ponyboy and Mitchell had made their dislike for each other perfectly clear._

_Jack snorted. "I'm sure he's thinkin' the same thing about you, buddy."_

_Ponyboy just rolled his eyes, before gesturing to Dally and Curly. "Jack, these assholes are Dallas Winston and Curly Shepard."_

_The three of them sized each other up and shook hands._

_Once they were done, Ponyboy grinned. "B and E?"_

_Dally looked proud of himself. "Those were some mighty fine TVs, man. I couldn't help myself."_

_Curly nodded in agreement. "Tim weren't happy with me."_

_Ponyboy smirked. "I'm not surprised. Breakin' and Enterin'? You're gonna give him a stroke one of these days."_

_Curly just laughed, feeling really pleased to see his old buddy again._

_Dally suddenly looked serious. "How are you doin', Pony?"_

_Ponyboy was quiet for a moment, before lighting up another cigarette. "I'm twenty-one, Dal. I ain't a kid no more."_

_If it were anyone else but Dally, they wouldn't have understood. However, Dally knew what Ponyboy meant perfectly. Ponyboy wasn't just talking about his age. Prison had a way of changing someone. Dally only had two years - he was going home and could live his life once he left. Ponyboy didn't have that luxury. He was in here for life and that was what had torn him up. Ponyboy wasn't hoping for release anymore; he wasn't hoping for anything. Prison was a dangerous place to hope and Ponyboy had stopped. It was only about survival now._

_Dally just nodded, not offering any words of comfort. Ponyboy probably would've punched him if he had._

Finishing his bench presses, Ponyboy sat up and dragged himself out of the memory. Dally and Curly had been in there for two years, but came to see him as much as they could once they left. They sent letters, as well. They always sent letters.

Ponyboy had only been in solitary confinement once during the two-year period they were there, for only thirty days. Dally and Curly had been shocked that Ponyboy would even do anything to get _into_ solitary confinement. It had been a defining moment for them, realizing just how much prison had changed the quiet greaser they'd once known.

Ponyboy knew that they hadn't quite known what to think about it.

He'd never been quite sure if he'd cared.

"Do they know, Curtis?" Jack asked, suddenly looking anywhere but at him.

Ponyboy didn't even hesitate. "No, they don't. None of them do."

He knew that his brothers and the guys would freak out if they knew anything about what was going to happen that day. He'd thought over every option he had and this was the best one. Besides, it would be better in the long run if his brothers and the gangs actions were sincere. He had spoken to his lawyer, though, but not about everything.

His lawyer, Jasper, had stuck with him over the years and Ponyboy owed him a lot. Jasper knew something was up, but Ponyboy hadn't told him what he was planning, because he didn't want him to be an accomplice. He was still a man of the law and Ponyboy respected that.

Jack sighed, nodding. "That's probably the best way to go. Are you ready?"

Ponyboy looked up at his friend and nodded, tensely. He was more ready for this than he thought he would be. He didn't feel any hesitation, at all.

Standing up, Ponyboy and Jack began walking away from the exercise equipment. This had to look real. They had planned this for weeks, going over every possible outcome and they were only aiming for one. Ponyboy didn't even have to look to know that Jack had signalled the others involved.

"Curtis!"

Turning around, Ponyboy saw Peter and Malcolm approaching the two of them.

_Right on time_, Ponyboy thought.

"What do you want?" Ponyboy asked. They'd faked a fight the week before and had 'been at odds with each other' ever since. The officers were thoroughly fooled. It wasn't the first fight they'd had over the years, so faking another one wasn't hard.

"My lighter," Peter snarled. "I know you stole my lighter, man."

Normally, this wouldn't be something to argue about. However, Peter was one of those with a serious smoking habit and he only had one lighter at this time. You keep him smoking, you keep him happy. They'd all learned that the hard way.

"I don't have your lighter, _Pete_," Ponyboy snapped. "Why would I want your lighter? I have my own."

He allowed a slight smirk to flash across his face. It would have been enough to get Peter's blood boiling had this been a real fight.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "You fuckin' bastard!"

Ponyboy didn't dodge the punch that was thrown. He fell down, caught himself and kicked Peter's legs out from under him. The fight had begun.

As the two of them threw punches and kicks, Jack and Malcolm also did the same. Other cons started getting in on it - starting with the ones who knew what was going on - and a full on rumble started right there in the prison yard. Out of the corner of his eye, Ponyboy could see the officers running, trying to break things up and guns being drawn by the ones up on the walls.

Catching Peter's eye in the middle of the right - the cons blending into each other and hiding the two of them from sight - Ponyboy gave a slight nod. _Do it_.

Taking a sharpened toothbrush out of his shoe, Peter didn't hesitate in sinking it into Ponyboy's side. Only barely holding back the gasp of pain as it sank in deep, Ponyboy just laid there on the floor.

"Good luck, Curtis," Peter whispered into his ear, before running off to get into another brawl.

With the cons involved seeing that the job was done, the fight slowly began breaking up. Ponyboy kept a hand over the wound in his side - the makeshift blade had been left in - and breathed a deep as he could. The location of the wound had been chosen for a reason; the amount of pain he was in couldn't be faked and it was enough to get him what he needed.

Ponyboy saw the spots in front of his vision and the blackness begin to seep in. Only the sea of orange around him kept him focused on the task at hand. It wasn't long before two officers were leaning over him, both assessing the wound and his state of consciousness. He felt an even worse pain in his side and faintly heard a yell - before registering that he was the one yelling. One of the officers had made the makeshift blade go slightly deeper.

_By accident, of course_, Ponyboy thought, sarcastically. He was conscious enough to recognize that one of the officers hovering over him was someone who had made their dislike of him clear. The feeling was entirely mutual.

Ponyboy focused on his breathing, just trying to get through the pain. It would do no good if he passed out now. Faintly, he registered that all the other convicts were filtering out of the yard, being shepherded back to their cells.

It seemed like an eternity before he was lifted onto a stretcher and carried out of the yard, and even longer before he saw the paramedics around him, lifting him into the ambulance.

Fighting through the pain, Ponyboy forced himself back to full consciousness. This would not all have been for nothing.

Seeing the two paramedics working in the back of the ambulance - one on his wound and one trying to get the right medication - everything was brought back to a sharp focus. Even the pain seemed to increase, but he thought of his goal and pushed everything else to the side.

"I'm not pleased to have _you_ back here, Curtis," one of the paramedics, O'Brian, told him, seeing that he was focused again.

"The feeling's mutual," Ponyboy replied, his voice hoarse from pain.

O'Brian was a greaser and Ponyboy had known he'd be on call this morning. It just made it easier. O'Brian was one of the ones who knew what was going on. He'd been a damn good contact on the outside. He was a River King through and through.

Seeing the other paramedic busy getting the medication, O'Brian stuffed a couple of things into Ponyboy's hand and inside his orange jumpsuit, before giving him a slight nod.

Immediately, Ponyboy swung out with his fist and knocked the other paramedic out cold, his head bashing against the ambulance wall. Ponyboy immediately jumped up.

"Sorry, O'Brian," Ponyboy muttered, before doing the same to him. They'd both have bad headaches when they woke up. At least, though, O'Brian had signed up for it.

The ambulance was still moving, but Ponyboy didn't care as he busted open the back door and jumped out. He landed and rolled on solid asphalt and then saw what he was looking for.

Running straight for the trees, all of Ponyboy's energy was focused on getting away. Everything else faded to the background as he ran straight through the trees and deep into the woods, just focused on getting to the location he needed to get to.

Ponyboy Curtis had escaped from the ambulance. He was running. He was a fugitive of the law now and he didn't care.

He had a goal ...

... and he wasn't going to fail.

* * *

**Author's Note****:- I really hope you enjoy this story. Please, let me know what you think and review.**

**Enjoy! :)**


	2. News and Meetings

**The Prisoner of McAlester**

**2. News and Meetings**

**December 3rd, 1977**

Ponyboy had been awake all night. He was in utter agony.

After escaping and running from the ambulance, it had taken Ponyboy longer than he'd hoped to get to the meeting point that he and a friend had arranged. James had served just fifteen months in McAlester and had only been released six months ago. During his time in prison, James had gotten into only one fight and that had been during his first week. The kicker was that the fight had started because Malcolm had called James by his last name - Wright.

Malcolm was sent to the hospital for a deep laceration and more than a dozen stitches. James spent a week in solitary confinement.

James hated his last name because of his father. Ponyboy had never met the man, or even heard about him visiting his son, but he didn't like him. James hadn't said too much about the man, but it was his silence that had spoken volumes - that, and the scars that littered his arms, torso and upper legs. They'd known it was his father by process of elimination.

His mother had died in childbirth, all of his grandparents were dead - and had been since long before he was born - and neither of his parents had any siblings. With a little digging, Ponyboy and Peter had managed to find out that James had been raised by his deadbeat father and had been in and out of jail since the age of thirteen. It hadn't been hard to figure out that jail was likely his only escape from his father.

Social Services had even looked into his situation once, following up a tip from an unknown source, and had found "nothing wrong" with his home situation. Hearing about that had only enforced Ponyboy's opinion that Social Services were useless when it really came down to it. He'd heard about more situations involving them that turned out bad, or worse, or where they didn't help or see the real situation, at all, that he'd developed a true dislike for them.

Ponyboy had asked James to be the one waiting for him after he escaped, because of his reliability and his medical knowledge. If James said he would be there, then he'd damn well wait until you showed up. It could be both a strength and a weakness of his, when used in certain ways.

James had driven him to an isolated location, where he'd then given Ponyboy a quick blood transfusion to get him through the journey they had to make and bandaged him up nice and tight. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the equipment to stitch Ponyboy up in his car and he didn't want to take the risk of doing more damage by rushing it. Staying in that area for too long would've been dangerous and they had to get to a medical facility away from the area.

One of James' old friends had built an underground medical facility for when people didn't want to go to a regular hospital. It wasn't well-known about, but James worked there part time and said Ponyboy could get treated there. James would've known the full extent of the damage, if that officer hadn't pushed the blade deeper.

James drove fast to get Ponyboy to the facility and make sure there wasn't anything internally damaging.

Once they got to the facility, James and his friend, Bradley Phillips, had done all the tests needed and given him another blood transfusion. Considering the location and the officer's actions, Ponyboy was lucky. With what Peter had done, it would've been a rather simple job. However, because the officer had pushed it deeper and, afterwards, all of Ponyboy's moving around, the situation had been a bit more complicated than anticipated.

They'd determined that, because of the blade being pushed deeper, it had travelled too close to his internal organs for them to be comfortable with. The operation became more than it should've been, but Ponyboy had been fine. Bradley said that he'd been lucky, but that he would be in pain for a long time and couldn't be off any medication for at least a week if he wanted to make it without passing out.

As long as Ponyboy knew his limits and didn't push the boundaries for a while, then he'd be fine.

Ponyboy wasn't worried about being out of commission for a while, because it gave him more time to think on his plan. The only thing that worried him was his brothers reactions when they found out what he'd done and when the officers found that one important thing he'd left in his cell - which hadn't been accidental.

"Are you feelin' okay, Ponyboy?"

Looking to his right, Ponyboy managed a grin at James. "I'm fine."

James' right eyebrow rose. "You're in pain, man. Even _with_ all the meds you're on."

Ponyboy rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Smartass," James grumbled. "If you can sass like that, then you're fine. Do you want me to do anythin' for you?"

Ponyboy was quiet for a moment, before giving a slight nod. Absent-mindedly, he ran his hand over the right side of his jaw, where the worst of his most visible scars sat. The very one he'd received _that_ night. "Tell her to keep a low profile. Nothin' can get screwed up now. Not when I finally have this chance."

James, his eyes lingering on the scar on Ponyboy's jaw, didn't question him and just nodded. "I'll tell her."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Melissa Roberts wrapped her hands around her fresh mug of coffee as she watched the news on TV.

_"Ponyboy Curtis escaped from the Oklahoma State Penitentiary yesterday, while he was on his way to the hospital after being knifed by a fellow prisoner. The two paramedics in the back of the ambulance with him said that his attack came out of nowhere. Both paramedics were treated for concussions and a few other minors injuries, but will recover in perfect health."_

_"The questions that this reporter wants the answers to are many. Why was Ponyboy Curtis going to the hospital without an armed police guard following the ambulance? How did the officers in the prison not notice what this man was planning? Considering that he is in prison for mass murder, should he not have been one of the most heavily guarded prisoners? And why did this reporter have to hear about the escape from an unknown source? Why were we not told by our law enforcers? Did they try to cover this up? I vow to bring you all news as it comes to me."_

_"This is Courtney Evans signing off."_

Melissa looked over at the police officer sitting on her couch. David Grayson was one that she was rather familiar with. He was the Chief of Police in Tulsa. The TPD had obviously been given the lead on this case, since they were the ones to arrest Ponyboy and were the ones who "knew him best".

"Did the reporter not hear about the escape from you?" Melissa asked, already knowing the answer.

Grayson shifted uncomfortably. "No. We were hoping to catch him before the news broke."

Melissa snorted. "So, in other words, you wanted good publicity instead of bad publicity."

Grayson flushed under her mockery. He should've expected it, though. They were going to be ripped into pieces by the press and the public. She was right; they hadn't wanted to look bad. They had been terrified of the press and public finding out that they'd all but allowed one of the worst prisoners that the Oklahoma State Penitentiary has housed, due to his blatant disregard for human life and the amount of death that had been dealt by him in a single night, to escape.

His guards throughout the years all said that he showed no remorse for what he'd done. That alone was enough to cause Grayson's contempt for Ponyboy Curtis.

The officer that had witnessed the worst of Curtis' crimes that night had been completely traumatized, had quit his job as an officer and was still in therapy to this day. He'd barely been able to look at Curtis during the trial, but it had been his testimony that had sealed the prosecution's case.

Ponyboy Curtis hadn't stood a chance.

"Has he been in contact with you recently?" Grayson asked, obviously deciding to cut straight to the chase.

Melissa shook her head. "I haven't spoken to Ponyboy in months."

That was true. They had a mutual friend who was conveying information to her, so she knew that he was alright. She had received the call from James after Ponyboy had his surgery, but she still hadn't spoken to Ponyboy herself. She knew that she would have to be patient.

"If he gets in contact with you, call us," Grayson told her. "Despite your continued insistence that he is an innocent man, the rest of us know the truth. He will kill you without hesitation."

Grayson stood and left without Melissa showing him out. When she heard the front door shut, she placed her mug on the coffee table, before rising and turning off the TV, not looking as the most recent picture of Ponyboy that had been taken was shown. She knew more about recent events than the news did.

Fingering the locket around her neck, she opened it and looked at the picture of herself and Ponyboy inside. It had been the last picture taken of them together when they had been just fifteen and she'd treasured it ever since.

When they'd been fifteen, she and Ponyboy had entered into a kind of friends with benefits relationship; not quite boyfriend and girlfriend, but also not quite just friends, either. They'd kept it a secret from their families, because they just wanted something to themselves for a while. The both of them had experimented in a number of ways and, just weeks before Ponyboy's arrest, they had lost their virginity's to each other.

Melissa wouldn't claim that everything had been perfect - nothing was perfect - but she had been comfortable with him.

She had never believed that Ponyboy was guilty. He wasn't a murderer and nothing anyone had said was able to convince her otherwise. She'd been on the outs with her parents ever since, because they were firm believers in Ponyboy's guilt and had forbidden her from visiting him during the early years, though she had managed to get him letters through a mutual friend - sometimes, that friend had even covered for her as she snuck to the juvenile facility and visited Ponyboy, though that had been rare in the first few years. As soon as she had turned eighteen, she'd moved out of her parents house and had worked her way through her final year of high school, the years of community college afterwards and, all the while, visited Ponyboy as much as she could - after he was out of Maximum Security, of course. Ponyboy hadn't wanted her to see him chained down during the visits and she hadn't exactly wanted to see that, either.

It had always been hard enough to see him in prison, at all.

She had dated a number of guys over the years, but none of the relationships had worked out. She knew that Ponyboy had done a number of things in prison, but the two of them had only spoken about that very briefly. She knew enough to know that, for Ponyboy, whatever he had done in prison was about pure sexual satisfaction and nothing more.

Resorting to such measures had been necessary, she knew, but she couldn't pretend that the thought didn't make her heart ache for him. How much love and affection had he truly received in the last decade?

Three years ago, when they had both been twenty-two, she and Ponyboy had gotten back together. She had been the one to make the first move and she hadn't regretted her decision. She knew that Ponyboy was expecting her to change her mind and move on one day, but she couldn't see that happening.

Melissa knew that she was in love with Ponyboy and she had told him that as much as she could. She didn't blame him for believing that she would move on one day, because she would likely think the same in his situation.

Melissa didn't just love Ponyboy, she loved small things about him. She loved the way his eyes would soften when he looked at her, even only by a little. She loved the way he would listen to any of her problems and offer solutions, or just support her. Most of all, she loved that he didn't hide from her. If he had a problem, then he would tell her and allow her to shoulder the burden with him.

That was how she knew exactly _why_ he had escaped from prison. She was going to help him with everything he needed. He wasn't alone in this and she was going to make sure that he knew it.

Melissa knew that the police knew that Ponyboy had escaped for a reason - they'd asked her about the picture in the cell - but she had never seen the picture before and told them so. Oh, she had seen the person in the picture before - in other pictures - but she had never seen _that_ picture before. She hadn't lied during the questioning, not once.

They hadn't asked her if she knew why Ponyboy escaped, so she hadn't had to lie. All they had asked about was the picture.

She hoped that everything would turn out alright. If this failed, then she didn't know what was going to happen. If this failed, Ponyboy would be under strict security - he would likely be moved back to Maximum Security - and he would be in solitude once again. That wasn't good for his mental stability and she worried about what it would do to him, if he had to return to that place.

This couldn't fail. It couldn't.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sodapop was shaking as he watched the news report. It had been more than twenty-four hours since Ponyboy had escaped from the Oklahoma State Penitentiary and the State of Oklahoma was on Red Alert, with all neighbouring states keeping an eye around their borders. Words like "convicted mass murderer", "considered highly dangerous" and "state of emergency" had been thrown around and Soda felt like he was living in a dream.

How could this have happened? Why would Ponyboy have escaped? What the hell had been going through his younger brother's mind? Why was there a picture of a man in his cell? Had Ponyboy really escaped to kill someone, just like the police suspected?

No. Soda refused to believe that Ponyboy had escaped to kill someone. He wasn't a killer, despite what the rest of the world thought.

"Any more news?"

Turning his head, Soda saw Two-Bit Matthews and Steve Randle walking in through the front door. Quickly, he pressed a finger to his lips, indicating for them to be quiet, before pointing to the shut kitchen door.

"Tim and Curly are talking to Darry," he told them, "and we're expecting Shaun to show up any minute now."

Shaun Carr was the current leader of the RK. Soda didn't even need to mention that he was coming round to talk about the fact that Ponyboy had given Oscar O'Brian, a popular and well-liked member of the RK, a rather bad concussion when he'd escaped from the ambulance. O'Brian had been held overnight for observation, but had signed himself out earlier today.

Shaun had been livid when he'd found out. It didn't matter that he and Ponyboy had once been good buddies; no one messed with any of his men.

Steve sat down, while Two-Bit turned the TV off.

"You shouldn't be watchin' this shit," Two-Bit told him, before sitting on his other side.

Soda just sighed and lit a cigarette. "There's nothin' else on. Well, there is, but every other channel has an urgent alert sign, tellin' you to turn over to the news."

"As they should," a voice snarled from the doorway.

Their heads snapped over to look at the entrance, only to find Shaun Carr walking in, with Oscar O'Brian following in behind him. A rather horrible looking bruise covered the right side of Oscar's temple, but he didn't look to be particularly bothered by it, or even recent events.

"Calm down, Shaun," Oscar sighed. "It's not as bad as it looks."

A muscle in Shaun's jaw jumped harshly. "I may never have believed Ponyboy to be a mass murderer, but he's spent over a decade behind bars. That has a way of changin' a guy - and not for the better. I don't know _what_ he's capable of these days."

No one could contest that. Even Darry, Tim and Curly, who had walked into the room upon hearing the beginning of the conversation, were silent. Deep down, they'd all been thinking the exact same thing.

Oscar looked at his gang leader. "Ponyboy didn't kill me, Shaun. That should be enough evidence to show that he hasn't completely changed for the worst. Now, if you don't mind, I have to get home. My parents are waiting for an update on the state of my health."

Oscar walked out without a backward glance.

Shaun was quiet for a long moment, before turning to face Darry and Tim. "He's hidin' somethin'. He's been like that all day. I was there when he woke up and there was no shock from him. My guess? He _expected_ to wake up in his own hospital bed."

Curly crossed his arms, his fists clenched tightly. "O'Brian's in on the plan - whatever the hell the plan is. That's the only explanation."

Shaun nodded in agreement. "Then we just need to figure out what that damn plan is. Does anyone know who Ponyboy is said to be after?"

"I do." Dallas Winston walked in, holding a small piece of paper in his hands. "Well, kind of."

Dally held up a picture of someone none of them recognized. "I had someone get this for me. It's a copy of the picture the cops found in Pony's cell. This is why they think he's after someone and this is who they think he's after."

A deadbeat of silence, before Shaun broke it. "Who the fuck is he?"

Dally shrugged, lowering the picture. "I don't know and neither do the fuzz."

Darry and Soda looked at each other, their eyes showing the thoughts and emotions they were trying to hide.

What the hell was going on? When would Ponyboy contact them? Where was their brother? Was he okay? Were they ever going to see him again?

* * *

**Author's Note****:- Hi! I'm was really pleased to see how many of you liked the first chapter of this story. Thank you, everyone, for your reviews and support. I hope you enjoy this second chapter.**

**Enjoy and Review! :)**


	3. The Target

**The Prisoner of McAlester**

**3. The Target**

**December 10th, 1977**

Officer Blake Miller sat at his desk and looked at all the pictures in front of him. He'd always had a strong stomach, but these pictures were testing him more than anything else had in a long time. He'd been asked to go over the old case files by the Chief so that, when Ponyboy Curtis was found, his psychological profile could be thoroughly examined. Psychologists had already been contacted and were being put on standby, so that everyone could know, without a shadow of a doubt, where Curtis' mental state was these days. It had been a topic debated for a while now, but this was the first time it had become utterly urgent for people to truly understand his mind.

Friends and acquaintances of Curtis' in McAlester had been questioned and more interrogation reports were coming in by the hour. There wasn't a single stone being left unturned. Of those questioned so far, Jack Carmichael had been the closest to Curtis. Two convicts by the names of Peter Wallace and Malcolm Lloyd had also been thoroughly interrogated, as they'd also been the instigators of the fight that caused Curtis' injury. It was suspected to have been planned, but nothing had been confirmed as of yet and no one knew exactly who'd stabbed Curtis, though Peter Wallace was highly suspected.

In the confusion, none of the officers at the prison had caught sight of the stabbing and, by the time they saw Curtis on the ground, Wallace was already fighting with two other cons.

Looking over information in the file stamped as IMPORTANT, Miller sighed. He'd gone over this particular file about a dozen times already, but still couldn't put it down. There was something in particular that was bugging him in numerous reports, but he felt that feeling more prominently with this file and had never been able to figure out why.

Miller had transferred to the TPD over eight years ago and had studied this case extensively. This was one of the few cases that all rookies or new recruits had to go over, to "toughen up" and get used to the most gruelling, bloody and puke-inducing police work. Something hadn't sat right with him back then and something still wasn't sitting right with him now.

He just had to figure out what the _hell _that something was.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Smoking his third cigarette in forty minutes, Ponyboy kept his eyes trained on the television in front of him. He couldn't stomach watching the news with the wild theories that were being thrown out about his escape from federal prison, but this show seemed to be heading in the same direction.

It was December and the year nineteen seventy-seven would be drawing to a close in a matter of weeks, so shows about the years accomplishments and tragedies were being shown on every channel and the one he was watching had been updated in the last week.

His own prison break had made the list and was the hottest current gossip.

To the majority of America, he was a deranged killer out to kill again.

Ponyboy barely blinked as the screen on the TV went blank and Melissa stepped in front of him, her hands on her hips. "Out to kill again? They just want a scapegoat - they did ten years ago and they still want one today."

"These are the same people who think I killed twenty-five innocent people in one night," Ponyboy reminded her. "I don't blame them."

Melissa scowled at him. "_I do_."

Reaching out and gripping her wrist, Ponyboy pulled her down to sit next to him. She curled into his uninjured side and rested her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, ignoring the protesting muscles on his other side. Every movement he made seemed to cause some kind of pain connected to his injury, which just served to prove to him that physical fitness wasn't something to mess around with. Physical fitness had been important to him for a long time now and as soon as he was back in shape, he'd get back to keeping himself in prime condition.

Melissa's hand caressed his abdominal area, lightly tracing around the bandage that covered the stitches keeping his wound together. His wound had torn more while he'd been running away from the ambulance and was a couple of inches larger that it should have been. It would scar badly, but he could live with that. It wasn't the first knife wound he'd received in his life. He had a number of scars littering his torso courtesy of his time in prison and he had grown to be proud of them. They just served to prove that he was a fighter and a survivor.

The only scar that anyone seemed to cringe away from was the scar on his jaw. It had taken Ponyboy, himself, a long time to get used to the scar and even be able to look at himself in the mirror. When he looked at it, the flashbacks of that terrible night always hit him hard. It had calmed down over the years, but he would never forgot.

"I left the picture in my cell," Ponyboy told her. "What are they supposed to think?"

Melissa just sighed. "One day, people will see you as I do."

Ponyboy didn't bother saying anything to that. Nothing had been that simple in years and nothing was ever going to be that simple again.

"When are you leaving?" Melissa asked him, clutching at him a little tighter.

Ponyboy kissed the top of her head. "Tonight."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Dallas 'Dally' Winston sat in Bucks, which had been closed to the public. All around the room were the Shepard's gang, numerous members of the RK and a few others. Everyone in here had either never believed in Ponyboy's guilt, or had been turned to that line of thinking over the years.

That didn't mean that none of them believed that Ponyboy wasn't capable of violence, though. That didn't mean that none of them believed that prison hadn't broken him.

Theories had been thrown around all morning and they were making Dally's head spin. After the meeting last night, Soda had come to the conclusion that Ponyboy had either been framed - the photo planted in his cell after he'd left - or the guy he was going after was someone who could help him in some way. He completely refused to believe that Ponyboy was capable of extreme violence.

Darry had been resigned. He fully believed that Ponyboy was capable of violence but he, too, didn't want to believe that Ponyboy could actually be capable of premeditated murder.

Two-Bit and Steve hadn't said anything, but one look at them and Dally knew what they were thinking. Two-Bit had taken to visiting Ponyboy once a month. Sometimes, he went up more than that when none of the others could make it. As far as Dally knew, Two-Bit just told Ponyboy about his life and other events. Out of all of them, Steve was the one who visited Ponyboy the least. He and Ponyboy hadn't been close when they were younger, but Steve wrote him a letter once a month and visited him twice a year - sometimes three. Both of them were fully aware of what could happen to a guy in prison. Both of them knew that Ponyboy would be perfectly capable of violence.

Breaking away from his thoughts, Dally felt Tim's eyes on him. Looking up, he locked eyes with the oldest Shepard.

"Do you believe the fuzz, Dally?" Tim asked. "Is he out to kill?"

Dally took a long drag of his cigarette, meeting Curly's dark eyes briefly, before looking back at Tim. "I can't claim to know what goes on inside of Ponyboy's head. He's changed over the years - keeps his cards close to his chest, even with those he claims to trust. If there's one thing I learned while your brother and I were in the slammer with him, it's that he ain't Baby Curtis no more."

The nickname 'Baby Curtis' hadn't been formed for anything other than to mock the kid. He hadn't let it get to him - he'd been made of steel that way. Dally would've been one of the first to say that his brothers had protected him too much. He knew that Ponyboy agreed - he did back then and he did now - but heaven forbid you ever say it to his face. Not many knew, but he was as protective of his brothers as they were of him. The few who knew had found that out the hard way.

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

Tim's eyes narrowed. "You haven't answered the question, Dallas."

Dally put out his cigarette, stood up and glared at Tim. "The kid's spent just over a decade in prison. Two of those years were in a real hardcore facility - little to no human contact. Nothin' but his thoughts for company. Then he's thrust into another area, in which the hierarchy ain't somethin' to fuck around with. Make no mistake, man; he has a high position. He's won more fights than he's lost and spent a lot of time in solitary. He was there for thirty days when Curly and I were there, for almost bashin' some guys head in."

"Neither of us knew the details," Curly interrupted, knowing that everyone would be wondering what had happened to cause Ponyboy to do that. "It was kept quiet, even among us cons. Only those involved knew what went on."

Dally continued, ignoring the interruption. "Ponyboy don't talk about what goes on in there, but to get where he has, he would've had to prove that he wasn't one to be fucked with. Do I think he's capable of killin' someone?" Dally was quiet for a long moment, gritting his teeth. "Yes."

No one had anything to say to that.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_Dally and Curly were standing by the fence when a group gathering caught their attention. They could see flailing limbs at the centre of the crowd and rushed over, knowing that a fight was taking place._

_A fight in McAlester wasn't something new, but this one seemed to be particularly violent. Pushing to the front of the crowd, Dally almost felt his eyes pop out of his head._

_Ponyboy Curtis and another con by the name of Barry were trying to kill each other down there on the asphalt. Dally had never seen that kind of expression on Ponyboy's face before and sincerely hoped to never see it again. Barry was flat on his back and it was clear that Ponyboy was the attacker, as he was trying to bash Barry's head in, both with his fists and the floor under them both._

_"Fuckin' hell," a voice next to Dally muttered._

_Looking to his right, Dally saw Jack standing there with Peter and Malcolm. None of them looked shocked; only resigned._

_"What do you think set him off this time?" Peter asked, looking at the fight with a critical eye._

_Jack shrugged. "Somethin' bad. It always is."_

_Suddenly, the cheers began to die down and officers were pushing their way through the crowd. Dally would never admit to it, but he felt his blood run cold when he saw the expressions on the officers faces as they caught sight of who was involved in the fight._

_"Break it up!" the oldest of the officers, Tony, shouted. He was either known as Tony, or Officer Tony. Very few people, if any, knew what his last name was. He was well liked among the officers and was usually quite fair to the cons, as well._

_Ponyboy's fist literally stopped mid-swing and he got off Barry quickly. Dally was surprised by his quick response because, from what he'd seen since he arrived, Ponyboy had very little respect for the officers. His prompt response wasn't his usual behaviour, at all._

_As the other two officers helped Barry up and began leading him to the infirmary - he'd likely be sent off to the hospital, to check for brain damage - Ponyboy was in the middle of a staring contest with Tony._

_Tony looked irritated. "What was it this time, Curtis? What'd he do to tick you off?"_

_Ponyboy remained quiet, just looking bored._

_Tony's eye began twitching. "Fine; have it your way, then. Solitary. Thirty days."_

_Ponyboy just smirked and shrugged. "Ah, the boys over there were missin' me anyways."_

_As Ponyboy was led away, Dally and Curly exchanged looks. Baby Curtis, this man was not._

_"What happened to Pony, Dal?" Curly asked, lowly, concerned for his old friend._

_Before Dally could answer, Malcolm did. "Prison happened. Curtis has a reputation to keep and nothin's going to get in the way of that. He's a survivalist, Shepard. Get used to it, or leave him the hell alone."_

_Curly nodded and Dally looked away. Darry and Soda were not going to hear about this. They wouldn't understand this side of their brother. For all their street smarts, they were woefully ignorant when it came to this side of things. They'd never felt the need to know, despite growing up in the rough area they had, and Dally wasn't about to enlighten them. It wasn't something that was told; it was something that was experienced._

-x-x-x-x-x-

Officer Miller looked up from his paperwork when he saw the Chief walking through the room and into his office with a young man; blonde hair, blue eyes, crooked nose and a deep tan. He immediately recognized him as the man in the picture from Curtis' cell.

_So he was finally tracked down_, he thought.

Everything fell silent in the office and everyone was turned towards the Chief's office window. He hadn't turned down the blinds so he, along with everyone else, were watching the results of the conversation. Miller knew exactly when the young man had been told about his picture being found in Curtis' cell; his colour drained to a pasty white and he turned his head, before vomiting into the trash can by the desk.

Miller turned back to his paperwork, not wanting to see anymore. Pulling a certain folder towards him, he scanned the information.

The man's name was Doug Jenkins, he was twenty-five, lived in Owasso, had no family to speak of, wasn't married, was in between jobs ... all the information was standard. He didn't even have a parking ticket to his name. There was very little information about him, though that wasn't a concern. From the information available, it said that he'd been raised on his parents farm in an isolated area of Oklahoma, was homeschooled and had moved to Owasso when he'd been eighteen. His mother and father had died when he'd been nineteen and he'd sold the farm, in order to pay for his own living. As far as Miller could tell, he was a hardworking man, who had few friends because of how devoted he was to his work.

Looking through the window to the Chief's office again, Miller saw Jenkins with a cup of water in his hand, still looking pale and visibly shaking.

He was an average man. Remembering Curtis' previous victims - two close friends and twenty-three innocent bystanders - he couldn't figure out why this man was a target, at all. He didn't fit the grain. Even in prison, Curtis' rivals had fit a certain bill. Peter Wallace and Malcolm Lloyd themselves probably knew Curtis the best, besides Jack Carmichael. They'd all gotten close enough to really understand him and the way he worked. Wallace and Lloyd could also fit the bill of what an enemy would be to Curtis.

Twenty-three of the original victims had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just a few minutes earlier, or even later perhaps, and there only would've been Curtis and that one other person on the road. If that had happened, no one would've known the kind of person that Ponyboy Curtis really was. He would've been a victim of the situation and not a killer. No one would've known the truth.

Miller's eyes narrowed. _But what is the truth_? he wondered.

Reaching over for his coffee mug and gulping down the cold, brown liquid inside, Miller couldn't help feeling that there was something that wasn't right with this whole case.

Why was Doug Jenkins now being targeted? Why was he chosen as a target? What _really_ happened that night? Miller needed more information if he was to form an accurate profile and not just information from a traumatized former cop. It was too bad that anyone who could give an accurate reading of that night was dead ...

_Wait a damn minute_! Miller thought, sitting up sharply.

Saying that the young officer had been the only witness wasn't accurate. He was the only witness left _alive_. He'd been down the street and had only heard the words that were shouted by Curtis and the one who had confronted him. The violence and death that night had traumatized him; the small details he remembered from that night had been used to gain a conviction.

Miller gritted his teeth. He needed to review everything with a critical detail. If Curtis was definitely guilty, like the majority of people believed, then it needed to be proved without a shadow of a doubt. _When_ Curtis was found the case needed to be ironclad. Miller had experienced the proficiency of Curtis' lawyer in other cases before. Curtis' escape could very well become an excuse for a retrial. If the death penalty came back on the table, then the lawyer could very well call for a retrial. He would very likely get it and all evidence would be thoroughly examined.

There could be no circumstantial evidence. Not this time.

Miller felt a headache coming on. He would need to talk to the Chief.

* * *

**Author's Note****:- Hi! I want to thank everyone for their reviews and support. And, of course, to everyone who is following this story and has put it on their favourites list.**

**Enjoy and Review!**


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